


Come and Be Human With Me

by softestpink



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Cuddling, Derek/Boyd ultimate brotp, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:42:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpink/pseuds/softestpink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re still lying in bed side by side when Isaac picks up his wrist and traces the veins that disappear into Scott’s arm.</p><p> “Tell me again.”, he whispers and Scott does, until his throat is sore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come and Be Human With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EnigmaticSplendor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnigmaticSplendor/gifts).



> Thanks to Kiki, Isa, and Daniel for being general babes.

“We should just torture them until they ‘fess up.” Erica says. “I know several methods guaranteed to get us results.”

 

She’s smiling calmly and Stiles can vouch that it is the scariest shit in the world, followed closely by the Lydia’s face the time she’d dragged them all through the furniture store to ‘understand the meaning of home decor’. Stiles twitches. _Fucking Ikea_.

 

He glances over a few tables at Scott and Isaac, who are playing some stunted version of tag in their aprons, knocking over chairs and punching each other in the shoulders because they’re both overgrown toddlers. Scott is panting and grinning and his cheeks are beet-red and Isaac’s smile is small but still more than Stiles is used to seeing. Scott makes a lunge for Isaac, who dodges and grabs him by the biceps, pinning Scott against his chest. He leans down to whisper something in Scott’s ear and yeah, Stiles has to agree with Erica.

 

This thing that Scott and Isaac have- it almost hurts to watch. As Scott’s roommate and long-time best friend, Stiles knows for a fact that Scott and Isaac share clothes all the time. It doesn’t even make sense. They don’t even wear the same size. In anything. And yet- he’s seen them both up at the asscrack of dawn, with Scott cooking in flannel bottoms that dragged on the floor because they stayed over Isaac’s the night before. He’s seen Isaac in questionable v-necks and Scott’s god-awful jean jacket from their senior year of high school (that he refuses to bin no matter how much Stiles begs). He’s seen Scott in sweaters too tight around the chest and too long in the arms looking for all the world like that it’s all he wants to wear.

 

He’s seen Scott fall asleep during a car ride and immediately seek out Isaac’s lap as a pillow. He knows from the week before Thanksgiving that Scott actually gives Isaac foot rubs and whines, _“Well, maybe if you wore a_ real _coat...”_ , whenever he comes down with a cold. Stiles especially remembers the day Scott sprained his ankle serving a cinnamon roll and two lattes and how Isaac had given him piggyback rides everywhere for the entire week after that. And more than a few times, Stiles has come home to the sight of them playing Call of Duty in their boxers and practically crawling into each other’s laps.

 

It’s almost painful.

 

“Hey, remember the time Isaac got that stupid haircut that made him look like a piece of broccoli, and then Scott got it too, just so we’d stop teasing him?” Boyd sounds equal parts amused and annoyed from his chair.

 

“Ugh. _Yes_. You know the other day, they were wheelbarrow-racing outside and Isaac cut himself on a rock. I thought he was bleeding out on the ground or the something the way Scott ran in here. He actually shouted for me to call an ambulance. Because Isaac skinned the back of his knuckle. _‘Stop laughing, this is serious_ , _Lydia_!” Lydia imitates Scott’s panicked voice and hops up on the counter next to Erica.

 

“Are you kidding?” Boyd frowns. “What about the time they were both really into The Last Unicorn?”

 

Stiles groans. “ _God_. And Scott bought the soundtrack and everything just so they could sing it in the kitchen while they baked.” That one’s actually kind of his fault. He really regrets letting Isaac watch that movie.

 

Stiles turns back towards them. They’re playing slaps with each other now, both giggling nervously and darting their eyes everywhere at once. Isaac keeps jumping whenever Scott moves at all, which has him doubling over laughing every two seconds and _god, they’re revolting_.

 

“I’m going to vomit.” Lydia comments with genuine disgust twisting her pretty features.

 

The front door opens when Scott and Isaac start arguing about who won and who has to do the laundry now, which- okay apparently Isaac _does_ live with them now. Fine. Whatever. Stiles is pretty sure he sleeps in Scott’s room anyway. In Scott’s _bed_. But Isaac makes absolutely orgasmic omelettes, so Stiles can let it slide.

 

“How long have they been together?” Derek, their new manager, comes up behind Erica with folded arms and joins the crowd.

 

“It’s kind of complicated-” Stiles starts to explain. Erica cuts him off.

 

“ _They aren’t_.”

 

“I saw them feeding each other scones the other day. They were in the same chair.” Derek frowns. Stiles thinks he would be so cute if he just cooled his eyebrow game a bit. And maybe didn’t look so constipated all the time. As it is, his face just makes Stiles uncomfortably aroused.

 

“That’s really not surprising.” Lydia sighs, checking her watch. “Twenty minutes until the doors open. Did you decide if you wanted to do that cupcake spread today, Boyd?”

 

Boyd nods at her absently, then narrows his eyes at Scott and Isaac. “It’s like they live in a Disney movie or something. How are they so damn _happy_ all the time?”

 

Stiles keeps to himself about the childish, I’m-not-apologizing-first fights they have every other month. And the venomous silent treatment that Isaac employs whenever Scott _really_ fucks up. And the occasional slap-fights over the remote.

 

“Hard drugs.” Erica says decisively.

 

“Are you all always this invested in other people’s love lives?” Derek sighs and aggressively ties on an apron.

 

*

 

“I see what you mean.” Derek says to Stiles two weeks later when they’re all done with rush hour. Isaac and Scott have just come up with the perfect idea: to knit scarves together ‘because winter, man’ (Scott) and ‘i’m running out of scarf money’ (Isaac) and now Scott is convincing everyone that they should have a Knitting Party in their tiny apartment, with only the promise that it’ll be ‘fun, guys!’. Also, Derek is starting to think that Isaac will do just about anything to stay in Scott’s presence. Guy’s got it bad.

 

“What does this even entail?” He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s a bad habit he picked up from Laura.

 

“Um. Fun.” Scott says with a frown. It’s clear that, just like his idiot friend Stiles (what kind of a name is that anyway?), he thinks Derek is some kind of robot devoid of all emotion.

 

Derek says yes for the simple fact that he can’t handle Scott’s face when he says no the first time.

 

*

 

Melissa McCall isn’t expecting it when her nineteen-year-old son calls to ask if she can make it to a Knitting Party with friends. Plural. He’s in the middle of asking her about the hospital when she hears an ‘oof’ and a muffled “Stiles, get off.”

 

“But I’m tiiiiired!” she recognizes the whining voice.

 

“Stilinski?”

 

“Hi, Mrs. McCall! Scott wants to know if you can come to our party. Our work friends are going to be there- we have **work friends** now- but don’t worry. There are only four of them. And they promised not to bring alcohol.”

 

“Which there wouldn’t be anyway!” Scott calls out in the background. “Because none of us are of age! And that would be illegal!”

 

“Derek’s of age.” Stiles corrects mulishly.

 

“Hey, hotshot. Nice to hear from you.” She ignores Scott hissing _‘Gimme the phone, Stiles.’_ , in the background. “Knitting party? Do any of you boys even know how to knit?”

 

(Last year for Christmas, they’d skyped and Scott and Stiles had jostled for attention in the tiny screen. In the end they’d both just ended up shoving their heads together and letting their cheeks mush while they talked. It’d been entertaining if nothing else.)

 

“Wait. Scott, we don’t know how to knit.” She can hear Isaac’s quiet voice in the background. He says it like this is his first time considering the fact.

 

“Youtube.” She hears Scott answer simply.

 

“I take no responsibility in this failure of an idea.” Stiles tells her. “No one will be knitting, Mrs. McCall. Next Saturday?”

 

She marks the date on her calendar. Melissa usually only takes Christmas off, but after nineteen years she knows Scott’s strengths and parties is not one of them. Supervision will definitely be necessary. All of Beacon Hills remembers the disaster that was Scott’s seventeenth birthday. (She still has to explain to guests that there’s a reason no one sits on that side of the couch). And suddenly, she’s feeling nostalgic. Though it’s only a two and a half hour drive, she barely sees him anymore, between school and work. The corners of her lips turn up slightly when she realizes that she misses her son.

 

“I’ll see what I can do, Stiles.”

 

“Awesome! Thanks, Mrs. McCall- Excuse-”

 

“Stiles, quit hogging the phone, asshole.” she hears loud laughter and hard breathing before Scott finally wrestles the phone back.

 

“Language.” She reminds him, but mostly as a reflex. The boy’s nineteen now. “I’ll come, but only if Isaac promises not to be a stranger.” She’s absolutely shameless but she can’t help it. A sweet one, that boy is, but deathly shy.

 

“And if you tell Stiles not to bring that god-awful iguana.” She adds as an afterthought when she glances out the window.

 

“Oh, Peter? Actually, some little kid stole him when we were at Ikea. It’s a long story.”

 

They talk about Beacon Hills and how everyone’s doing for a while (“Finstock and Harris? No way.”), then about the hospital (“You should take more time off, mom. Dr. Andrews can handle a couple days on her own.”) and throughout the comforting lull of their conversation, Melissa hears him murmuring absently to Isaac.

 

“No, we’re not watching Spiderman again. But-. No. Okay, fine.”

 

“Yes, Isaac. If a giant lizard burst into the coffee shop, I swear I’d let you fight it with me instead of throwing you out of the window.”

 

“Here, no over here. Your head’s heavy. My thigh’s falling asleep.”

 

until soon it’s almost time for her date with John and she has to hang up.

 

“Goodbye, boys.”

 

Melissa puts down the phone and wonders for the hundredth time if there’s something else happening there.

 

*

 

“You invited your mom?” Isaac murmurs into Scott’s knee once he’s hung up. Stiles knows that he must be dead tired because Isaac doesn’t even try and straighten up in front of him. Scott strokes his hair and Stiles looks away, feeling as though he’s interrupting just by being in the same room.

 

“Yeah. Don’t worry, you’re gonna be her favorite by the end of the night, dude.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Old people love you.” Scott points out.

 

“Are you calling your mom old?” Isaac laughs half-heartedly, already falling asleep in Scott’s lap.

 

“You know what I mean. Remember Mrs. Claflin with the purse and the candy? And the old guy with the eagle cane? He bought you a plate of brownies and everything. You’re like a wounded baby bird or something. Like old-people-catnip.”

 

Isaac slowly lifts his hand to flip him off, but Scott catches his fingers with a laugh and laces their hands together.

 

Stiles wants to disappear into the cushions. He can’t even enjoy _Spiderman_ with them.

 

*

 

The Knitting Party Idea goes down exactly the way Stiles predicts. There isn’t enough beer and way too much string everywhere and weird, elevator music because Lydia thinks it’s classy and should ‘get their creative juices flowing’. And since no one has ever figured out a way to tell Lydia ‘no’ without coming up missing, they all just put up with it.

 

Derek shows up in a leather jacket and a beanie, because he’s apparently determined to look unfairly attractive every time Stiles sees him.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Stiles says when he opens the door.

 

“I just realized- I left something back at the-” Derek tries to lie and back away, but Stiles is quick to drag him in and slam the door shut.  

 

Scott puts Youtube on through their Xbox, but they all just end up watching videos of cats playing piano and dogs walking in boots.    

 

In fact the only person that even knits is Boyd, who brings this actual masterpiece of a blanket with him to “finally finish because I haven’t had the time lately”

 

“You _knit_? You knitted a whole _blanket_?” Stiles crows.

 

“Yeah? This is my third. It’s a good stress reliever.” He claims with a shrug.

 

-which ends in Stiles proclaiming that Boyd is a superhero hiding his true identity from them and Isaac paying an outrageous amount of money for a homemade scarf.

 

Lydia, Erica, and Boyd (after managing to extricate himself from his new fans spend half the entire night chatting with Scott’s mother and the four of them are near inseparable by the time she leaves. Scott’s extremely worried when they immediately change the subject every time he nears the couch.

 

“Your mother’s amazing.” is all Erica will say when Scott stops her in the kitchen.

 

“You’re being paranoid,” is what Stiles tells him absently while watching Derek carefully pour himself a mug of eggnog and Scott narrows his eyes.

 

“No one just casually talks about Black Friday sales, Stiles. It's early November. They’re plotting something.”

 

When Melissa finally decides that she’s had enough of their cramped armpit of an apartment, Scott gets up to walk her out, but she stops him with a hand on his chest.

 

“Not so fast.” she chides. He frowns.

 

“Isaac,” she calls, raising an eyebrow at Scott. “why don’t you walk me to the car?”

 

Isaac nearly trips over his own feet trying to jog towards them and he looks mildly terrified. It’s a little hilarious.

 

“Of course, Mrs. McCall.” He’s been calling her that all night, despite the amount of times she’s told him that her name is Melissa.

 

“You should at least get a jacket.” He tells Isaac while he walks them both down the stairs. He waves it off absently and Scott rolls his eyes. _This_ is why he’s sick all the time. Melissa doesn’t say anything while she walks ahead of them and Scott knows she’s doing this just to torture him. She won’t say a word to Isaac until they’re out of Scott’s hearing range.

 

“I like them.” She says decisively when they all stop at the front door. “I think I’ll keep an eye on that Derek, though. Seems a little old to be hanging out with you guys.”

 

Scott thinks it isn’t that weird, but that’s because he _knows_ Derek. He’s like a grumpy ferret or something equally awkward and harmless. He doesn’t say anything though, because she’s just being a mom.

 

“It’ll be fine, mom.” He’s pretty sure he’s talking about everything in general when she hugs him and kisses his cheek.

 

“Now. You.” She turns and latches on to Isaac’s arm. Scott catches the tail-end of her sharp grin that he hasn’t seen in a long while and he can’t help the curious shuffle of his feet.

 

She doesn’t start talking until they’re almost to her Dodge and Scott sighs. What is going on? Isaac is hunched in on himself, getting pelted by snowflakes as they walk and Scott feels an exasperated almost-anger type of emotion bubbling up in his chest. That big idiot. His mom is making a lot of hand gestures and Isaac is doing a lot of nodding and stuffing his hands inside of his jean pockets. Scott’s surprised to find that his curiosity about whatever it is they’re obviously chatting about is masked by an overpowering protectiveness.        

 

Isaac’s going to get _pneumonia_ or something.

 

“Should’ve just made you get the damn jacket.” He grumbles. There’s no way Isaac’s fingers aren’t about to fall off or something. Scott’s shivering and he’s only in the _doorway_ , for chrissake.

 

Scott squints through the frenzy of snow that’s blowing down harder every second and he can see Isaac crouching down to hug his mother warily. She’s squeezing him tight and Scott’s not even hiding the grin he has when Isaac finally wraps his arms around her too. Isaac isn’t the most tactile person, but that looked pretty voluntary.

 

They exchange waves and then Melissa gets into the car. Isaac waits and shuts the door for her, even though he’s got to be numb by this point.

 

“Spoiler: I can’t feel my hands.” He gasps as soon as he runs back into the apartment building. Scott rolls his eyes, sheds his coat, and hands it over.

 

“Next time, I’m totally making you put on a jacket.”

 

Isaac doesn’t mention the conversation and Scott doesn’t bring it up, because one thing he’s learned is that Isaac is an immensely private person. If he wants to talk about it, he will. If he doesn’t, he won’t.  

 

Scott and Stiles spend the entire night getting embarrassingly drunk after Melissa leaves, and start tying yarn around pouches of Caprisun to throw them at each other. Lydia forces them to stop the second she walks out of Stiles’ room and catches Scott using the strap of her purse as a slingshot. Isaac has about five beers in a contest with Erica before Scott finds him in the curtains, fingering the fabric with a dopey smile.

 

“Erica made me drink Sprite and eat a banana at the same time.” he complains immediately and Scott smiles.

 

“Gross. Also, don’t do that next time. You could’ve been sick.” Isaac nods dutifully.

 

“Your mom’s great, Scott. Waaayyy better than my dad. Prettier, too.”

 

“Yeah.” is all Scott says when he nods. He isn’t even sure what Isaac’s dad looks like. In fact, he’s never even seen anyone in Isaac’s family. He’s about to mention that when Isaac doubles over and throws up all over his shoes.    

 

Isaac looks up, distraught, and it’s possibly only because he’s extremely drunk, but Scott thinks that Isaac has a very cute face.

 

“I am very, very drunk.” Isaac tells him carefully that night when they finally settle into bed and Scott starts giggling almost hysterically. It shouldn’t be that funny, but it just is. Isaac has yarn in his hair and his face is all screwed up, like it took him a lot of effort just to force those words out.

 

“I am very, very too.” he finally manages. “Too drunk. Drunk too. Not the number two. The ‘also’.”

 

Isaac nods as though he’s making perfect sense, or it could just be that he’s rubbing his face on the pillowcase, because Scott is suddenly very sleepy.

 

*

 

“You do realize you don’t actually work here.” Derek says after taking down a girl in a trenchcoat’s order while simultaneously offering Stiles the world’s most agitated eyeroll when he walks in.

 

“I hope your eyeballs get stuck that way and you’re forced to watch the back of your own gorgeous head for the rest of your life.” Stiles complains and he’s a little disturbed at the dreamy quality of his voice.

 

But Derek only rolls his eyes again and moves on to reading another order. “That isn’t even physically possible.”

 

“You aren’t even physically possible.”

 

Derek shoots him a marginally irritated glare, but his mouth twitches. It’s an emotion. Stiles wants to break out some champagne. He’s distracted when Scott does the stammer.

 

*

 

Scott knows the stammer means. He knows what it sounds like. (A stutter latched onto the end of every word he says). He knows how it feels. (Nails raking down the inside of his belly. Sweaty palms.) He even knows what it looks like. (Junior prom, he’d stood in front of the mirror for an hour using the crook of his elbow to practice a makeout session with Andy Gavia before his mom caught him. It’s not weird.)

 

So Scott knows for sure that that’s what’s happening when he sees him.

 

Isaac is just coming back from his smoke break.

 

Literally, that’s all.

 

He’s wearing one of Scott’s sweaters with the sleeves rolled up and his hair is all ruffled from the wind and sticking up on one side. Scott’s finally convinced him to start growing it out again. Mostly because running his hands through it is just really, really comfortable. He’s doing his weird squint that Boyd says makes him look like a baby and Scott can see why. Except it’s unfair because then Isaac would be such a _hot_ baby. Before he can fix that thought, he’s suddenly pelted with a revelation.

 

Oh.

 

Scott tries to look somewhere- anywhere else, but he ends up just staring at Isaac’s forearms where the sleeves are rolled up. He watches the stretch of muscle expose thick veins when Isaac reaches up to pat his hair back down and when Isaac licks his lips, it’s- it’s _pornographic_.

 

“O- **oh**.” it’s a loud blurt that draws the attention of everyone in a three-table radius.  

 

“Your face is... it’s so nice.” he tries to explain to Isaac’s visible confusion.

 

“Thank...you?” Isaac answers carefully.

 

Scott’s only answer a strange hiccup-laugh. Isaac gives him a weird look and laughs a little before heads to the back to put his coat away.

 

“ _Dude_.” Stiles is in his face immediately, snapping his fingers and distracting him from- from very strange thoughts.

 

“Yeah?” Scott says after a minute, because Stiles seems to be waiting for something.

 

“Are you- did you- I mean.”

 

“What?”

 

“What the hell was that?! You did the thing. That nervous thing you do when you see someone you like.” He isn’t sure why Stiles seems excited.

 

“I- I um-” Scott’s head is woozy. His thoughts are like sharks swimming in a circle and Isaac is the meat dangling in the water. Whoa. Bad metaphor. Simile. Whatever. More like- like Isaac is one of those rocks that those penguins were obsessed with during mating season. In that one movie. Isaac is the shiniest, biggest, prettiest rock. And Scott’s brain is one huge collective penguin.  

 

“Do you know if penguins give their mates rocks? Because that’s cute if they do.”

 

Isaac would have to be both the rock and the mate, which is strangely fitting, he thinks.

 

“Wait. _Dude_.” Stiles says again but this time it’s full of enlightenment. “Who are you giving creepy penguin rocks? Tell me what happened up here.”

 

He taps his forehead and leans closer over the counter, rubbing his hands together conspiratorially.

 

“Um.” he’s about to answer but there’s a girl in a trenchcoat behind Stiles that looks positively murderous and her hands are shaking. Oh. Caffeine fix.

 

“Tell you later,” he promises, because this girl looks like she’ll gladly drag Stiles’ unconscious body outside behind the dumpster if she has to.

 

*

 

Isaac isn’t sure why they’re watching Happy Feet. _Again_. It’s supposed to be some kind of explanation, he’s sure. In, like, Scott-speak. Because before he’d even put it on, there had been fidgeting and lip-biting and he hadn’t asked if Isaac wanted to watch anything else.

 

Also, this is their fourth time watching it in two weeks.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks before he flops down on the couch, kicking his legs up over the arm and laying his head in Scott’s lap. It’s Isaac’s favorite movie-watching position.

 

Scott nods, but he’s frowning. Isaac sighs. He’ll have to work this one out on his own then.

 

Isaac learned a long time ago that sometimes Scott uses aids to help translate his brain. Like that one time Isaac had gotten really sick and couldn’t even dangle his foot out of the bed without getting nauseous. And Scott had freaked out. He wouldn’t sleep and he filled Isaac’s hospital room with balloons and held his hand too much and too hard. For 48 hours there had been an unbearable amount of questions for the nurses before Scott finally passed out in the chair he’d dragged up next to Isaac’s bed. And Isaac hadn’t even been that annoyed. Because he got it. Scott had really, really missed him and really, really wanted him to be okay. It was nice. Sappy and headache-inducing. But nice.    

 

But he isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to be taking from this. Happy Feet? Is Scott living some kind double life that he wants Isaac to accept? Does he want to change majors?

 

The movie is good anyway. Scott hums along with Gloria’s heartsong and Isaac laughs because his voice is way too deep to pull it off but he always tries anyway. Scott voices his idea about becoming a professional tap dancer one day, and before Isaac can answer, he’s just feeling really, inexplicably fond. Scott doesn’t sound like he’s joking and he isn’t being the least bit cynical.

 

“I could be a tap dancer.” he says, and he’s right. If he really wanted to, he could. Only, Isaac knows that he’d probably get bored during the first lesson and end up playing games on his phone or calling Isaac or texting Stiles. But if he really wanted it? Isaac looks up at him.

 

“You could.” he agrees. “You could do anything.”

 

His chest feels tight with something that more than fondness, he knows and he pushes it away because the feeling certainly isn’t new and no good will come of it.  

 

He eats up the smile Scott gives him though.

 

“You could too, you know?” Scott says quietly, reverent. Isaac feels his face heat and he turns to look anywhere else.

 

“You realize this is the last time we’re watching this movie, right? At least for the next three years.”

 

And they devolve into a petty argument about the time Isaac made them watch Scandal for a whole month because Scott just doesn’t understand the intricacies of some of the nation’s most shocking political cover-ups. And it isn’t like Kerry Washington’s cheekbones are _ruining_ the show.

 

*

 

Stiles finally corners him the next morning in the breakroom. No one even tries to stop him from barging in anymore.

 

“So. Isaac, huh?” He asks by way of greeting. Scott groans at his notebook and runs his hands through his hair.

 

“I’m not even sure how long it’s been. I mean- I just sort of realized.” Stiles pats his shoulder sympathetically and whistles.

 

“I can tell you its been more than a few months, man.”

 

“Stiles. I think. No, I’m pretty sure it’s more than just want.”

 

“Well, yeah-” Stiles starts but Scott’s cutting him off, grinning infectiously.

 

“Stiles. Stiles, I love Isaac.” He’s quiet but Stiles knows that there must be a lot going on on the inside.

 

And there is.

 

Scott’s brain is practically performing a hallelujah chorus.

 

He’s stuck between this immense state of happiness and a nervousness that he hasn’t felt since the ninth grade when Andy Garcia waved at him for the first time from his locker near the water fountain.

 

“Ugh. Finally.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“This isn’t exactly big news.”

 

Scott starts thinking about it, sifting through old memories with new eyes.

 

“Oh.” Scott whispers when he thinks about how beautiful Isaac is when they wake up in the morning. He guesses that maybe should’ve been a clue, because he’s never wanted to just lay back and watch Stiles blink the sleep-crust out of his eyes. And he doesn’t get a serious case of dry mouth whenever he spots Stiles’ happy trail. Which, weird.

 

Scott wonders when it stopped being platonic. Or if it ever even _started_ out platonic. And then he just decides that he doesn’t care. Because he _loves_ with Isaac. He wants to keep doing the things they already do. He wants to listen to Isaac complain about school and the rush hour shift. He wants to take Isaac back to Beacon Hills to _properly_ meet his mom. He wants to go on real dates. He wants to go on not-real dates. He wants Isaac to make out with him on his motorcycle. Not much else really matters.

 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” He asks Stiles, who pats him on the back sympathetically.

 

“Nah. I think this is one of things you had to do on your own, buddy.”

 

*

 

“Hey Isaac,” Scott calls from the kitchen. They’re about to head over to some party that Lydia invited everyone to. “Do you think we’d make a cute couple?”

 

Isaac’s glad Scott isn’t in the living room with him because he nearly chokes on his own tongue in response.

 

“ _What?_ ” He panics. "Scott, what are you talking about?"  

 

Scott walks back into the living room, pensive-looking.

 

“Nevermind. Um. Sorry, man.” He looks crestfallen, like a puppy that’s just been mauled and Isaac’s at a loss for words. What does Scott want him to say? He has Isaac’s scarf in one hand and he loops the fabric around his neck, jumping a little because Scott’s almost a whole foot shorter than him.

 

“Scott, I-” Scott looks up at him and Isaac chest feels tight with words. He can’t bear to say anything though, because this might be it. This might be the last time that Scott trusts him. “I. You. We should go. Before Lydia calls and asks why we bailed.”  

 

“Oh.” He looks sad again when he loops the scarf in a knot and secures it and out of reflex, Isaac holds him in place. He freezes, stuck between trying to loosen his fingers on Scott’s waist and maybe, for once, trying to be brave.

 

“Oh.” Scott says again, soft. He leans up, balancing on his toes and taking his time like if he doesn’t Isaac will run. Which, if that’s the case, Scott is an absolute dumbass.

 

Isaac is the one who inches his neck forward and presses their mouths together, tentative.

 

He keeps his eyes open because how is this happening? How is this _real_?

 

Scott’s eyes are shut though, squeezed tight like he might burst. His eyebrows are scrunched too and lips are softer than Isaac thought they’d be. Scott opens up, wet and pliant when Isaac finally closes his eyes and kisses harder. There’s an ache in his lower back because he’s chasing that perfect mouth, trying to make up for the difference in height. He’s about to give up and just lift Scott up to get a better angle when he’s suddenly struggling to breathe. His throat is _on fire_. Isaac pulls away frantically, shoving blindly when he realizes that Scott is pulling on the scarf, suffocating him.

 

“ _Oh, fuck me_!” he coughs, doubling over. Stiles runs out of his room fully dressed but for the tie swinging around his neck.

 

“What happened?! Did he choke on something? Isaac, man, you okay?!” Isaac loosens the scarf and wheezes something that should be ‘great’, but only makes Stiles look like he wants to drive him to a hospital.

 

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Scott is babbling and hovering around Isaac like he wants to help but also doesn’t want to touch him at all. Which is doing wonders for Isaac’s self-esteem.

 

“I know CPR.” Stiles says. Isaac coughs a bit more, then latches onto the arm of their couch.

 

“If you try and give me mouth to mouth,” He squeezes out between coughs. “they will never find your body.”

 

When they finally make it out of the apartment, Isaac is sufficiently embarrassed and Scott is avoiding even looking in his direction.  

 

All in all, their first kiss is a bit of a disaster.

 

*

 

Boyd makes every effort possible to avoid Lydia’s party at first. But Derek promises he’ll never forgive him if he has to go alone and suffer Lydia’s legion of friends that stare at him like he’s a piece of meat.

 

“Why are we even friends?” Boyd mutters as yet another boy in skinny jeans eyes his biceps and suggestively licks his lips.  

 

“Well.” Derek reasons. “You did wear the vest.”

 

Boyd cuts him a look that makes Derek’s lips turn up just a little. But it’s not a smile. No one can prove that.

 

The party’s actually pretty awesome. There’s dancing and good music but there’s also a sizeable amount of people playing drunk monopoly at her kitchen table. Everyone Boyd knows seems to be in pairs. Scott and Stiles are in the middle of the dance crowd, jumping up and down, laughing. Erica and Isaac are lounging on the couch with each other, watching Love Actually with the sound off and snapping at each other like a pair of cats. He and Derek are standing against a wall together, arms folded in solidarity.

 

Lydia somehow seems to be everywhere at once, and Boyd gives up on trying to find her.

 

“What’s up with Scott and Isaac?” Derek asks him out of nowhere.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, they’re usually attached at the hip.”

 

Boyd shrugs.

 

“They probably fucked and hit that weird stage where they don’t know how to feel about it. Why?”

 

“Nothing. It’s just-” Boyd follows Derek’s line of sight and sees Stiles, grinding on of the drag queens Lydia invited from the club.

 

“Seriously?” Derek keeps looking at Stiles and shuffles his feet.

 

Boyd needs new friends. New friends that aren’t ogling each other every five seconds. He looks at the door wistfully.

 

“If you bail, she’s going to notice.” Derek yawns and Boyd watches a girl in a deep blue dress zero in on his friend.

 

“God _damn_ , you’re cute.” Boyd nearly chokes when the woman comes over and just starts talking to Derek, leaning into his space uncomfortably. She’s tall, standing nearly eye to eye with Boyd himself, and she’s obviously beyond drunk.  

 

“What’s your name?” she asks as Derek politely separates their bodies, keeping her at arms-length.

 

“Derek?” he says it like a question.

 

“Well, I would fuck you, **Derek**. I would get a nice, big strap-on and-” Derek blushes and his eyes widen until his eyebrows become a part of his hairline.

 

“Kate!” That’s someone familiar making her way out of the dance crowd and coming towards them. Oh. Trenchcoat Girl. Boyd sees her all the time at the shop, normally downing scalding coffee and staring intently at her laptop screen.

 

“Um.”  Derek clears his throat.

 

“I’m so sorry,” the girl says once she’s pulled Drunk and Mouthy away from Derek. “That’s my aunt, Kate. She’s a little sloshed right now.”

 

Derek smiles awkwardly and waves her away with a ‘no problem’. Boyd pats him on the back when they walk away.

 

“It’s okay, Derek. I understand. Every day is tough when you look like you just stepped off a GQ photoshoot.”

 

Derek's face looks like a tomato once he finally smacks Boyd's hand away.  

 

*

 

It’s been two weeks since the kiss and the aftermath seems to be affecting everyone. Isaac is in such a pissy mood that even Derek is starting to shoot him dirty looks.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“He made a customer cry yesterday. Something definitely happened.” Erica squints over at Isaac, who’s rubbing down a booth table so hard that she’s sure it’ll break with another stroke. Scott doesn’t say anything, so she drops the guilt trip and tries a new tactic.

 

“He was always happy with you. There were even smiles. The real kind.”

 

“And?”

 

“Please, Scott. We all know the last time Isaac smiled at someone that wasn’t you was probably when the earth cracked open and he ascended and took his first body.” Scott gives her a look and she raises one perfect eyebrow in challenge.

 

“You’re exaggerating.” Scott rolls his eyes. “He just has a resting face.”

 

“Uh-huh.” She twines a finger into her curls and waits.

 

“...you really think he smiles more around me?”

 

“Oh honey, you’ve got it bad.”

 

“I do not.” He keeps on scribbling in his notebook. Erica debates whether those are real words or if Scott’s just trying to get her to drop it. She looks up and watches Isaac staring over at them covertly.

 

“ _Idiots_.” The both of them, really.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing. It’s just- Sweetheart, you’ve got to stop all of this moping whenever you think he isn’t looking.” she sits up and does a trademark hair flip. Erica’s perfected the art of calling people out uncomfortably. He feigns obliviousness.

 

Erica is almost offended at how terrible Scott is at lying.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“You’re a horrible liar. I’d definitely pursue this if I cared more. But as the most gorgeous human being I’ve ever seen just walked through the front door, we’ll have to do this later.”

 

Erica stands and fixes her bra so that her tits are even more prominent in her tight shirt and speedwalks to the register. Scott watches as she wheedles Boyd for the spot. He isn’t sure what she promises him, but it must be good because Boyd is moving out to clean tables without a fuss.

 

*

 

 

Scott twists around to see Trenchcoat Girl taking off her gloves at the door. Her name’s actually Allison, something he’d learned at Lydia’s party. She’s a regular now. He takes a moment of silence for the headache she’s about to get if Erica’s trying to snag a date with her. His watch beeps, signaling that he’s only got four more minutes of his break left, and Scott shuts his textbook.

 

Work is just as weird as everything else, now that they’re refusing to talk about the kiss.

 

The really good, bad kiss.

 

He isn’t sure if Isaac genuinely hates his guts or something now, because whenever Scott tries to bring it up, Isaac disconnects the call or flinches or just blatantly _walks away_. What’s worse is that every time, Scott feels like someone’s poked his life-rafter.

 

He tries talking to Stiles about it, but venting only does so much for him when Isaac literally avoids looking him in the face. Sometimes he tries to pretend it’s a height thing. He’ll glance over Scott’s head like it’s just natural, but Scott knows that’s total bullshit because Isaac’s never done that before. It’s starting to make him angry.   

 

Now that he’s stopped staying over so much, Scott realizes just how much time they actually spent together. Isaac’s stuff is everywhere. Especially in his room. Scott never was tidy, but the extra piles of boxers and v-necked t-shirts stick out on his carpet like sore thumbs. He doesn’t pick any of it up. He just- doesn’t want to.

 

“Did I really fuck it up _that_ bad though?” he asks Stiles while he stands at the register. Isaac is on another smoke break, figure easily visible through the window. He’s got a coat on for once, which is good because while it might not be snowing, it’s still below ten out there. He watches Isaac take a drag, fingers shaking.

 

No gloves, of course.

 

“I mean I’ve had girlfriends before. And boyfriends. I _think_ I’m a good kisser. Stiles, am I a good kisser?”

 

“You should just lay one on him, Scott.” Lydia drawls when she walks by them with a couple of mugs on saucers in her hands. “You know, for science.”   

 

Stiles makes a rude gesture with his arms but she’s already sashaying away to the personal booths. He turns back to Scott.

 

“I mean, what if he really hates me now?” Scott isn’t sure if he can deal with that.

 

“Are you kidding me? I’ll admit this was kind of adorable at first, but now I kind of want to waterboard the both of you.” Stiles smacks a hand against the counter. “Scott. Lahey doesn’t hate you. He’s crazy about you. You _have_ to know that.”

 

“Huh?”   

 

Stiles reaches up and curls his fingers in the air around Scott’s head like he wants to crush his skull. Scott is mildly offended. He lets out a deep breath, drops his hands, and Scott watches as they smack back onto the counter with a despairing finality.

 

“Just- just talk to him, Scott.”

 

 _How am I supposed to talk to someone who won’t even look at me?,_ he wonders.

 

*

 

“Alright.” Boyd starts when he walks into the kitchen and Isaac knows what’s coming before he finishes sliding the pan of brownies into the oven.

 

“This whole thing, with you and Scott? When are you gonna fix it?” Boyd’s always been the voice of reason in their small group of friends and Isaac absolutely dreads his ultimatums. They make too much sense.

 

“There’s no thing. Scott and I are friends. That’s it.”

 

He ignores Isaac.

 

“Because this ;taking it out on everyone else' thing is getting pretty old, man.” Boyd continues. “I don’t know what happened between you guys to make it weird-”

 

“Nothing happened.”

 

“-and I don’t really _care_ either. Just make up and touch dicks already.”

 

Isaac startles and drops an oven mitt, because that is the first time he’s ever heard the word ‘dicks’ come out of Boyd’s mouth and it feels like more of a momentous occasion than is probably normal. Boyd starts on a fresh carrot cake mix and Isaac sidles up beside him with a grin on his face.

 

“So. You think about me and Scott’s dicks a lot?”

 

“Nah, you two do that more than enough for the rest of us.”

 

Boyd laughs and punches him in the shoulder and Isaac knows that everything’s cool between them.

 

He hadn’t realized he was being such an ass to everyone, and he feels a bit terrible now that he’s thinking about it. This might be a job he’d needed desperately, but these people are more than just his coworkers. They’re just about the only friends he’s ever had, not counting Camden. Isaac hates counting Camden, because that’s his older brother and somehow that’s a little too sad.  

 

*

 

“Fine!” Isaac startles at the voice and drops his coat in reflex, ready to defend himself, but it’s only Scott. They’re alone in the breakroom, which is not an ideal condition for his new ‘Stay-Away-From-Scott’ routine. Isaac picks up his coat again.

 

“Look, Scott-”

 

“You don’t wanna talk to me? That’s fine. But just listen.” He growls when Isaac slips his arms into the coat. “That kiss-”

 

Isaac shuts his locker. “About the kiss, Scott I think-”

 

“Shut _up_.” Scott’s voice is brittle and harsh and Isaac closes his mouth out of pure surprise.  

 

“That kiss was-” Scott swallows and spreads a hand on the spare table between them. “It was a good kiss.”

 

“Was it?” Isaac asks, walking toward him and his eyes latch onto the nervous swallow of Scott’s adam’s apple. He knows he’s too close when Scott starts to crane his head to look up at him, but stopping himself is something a better man would do.

 

Isaac is not a better man.

 

“Before you nearly died in our living room, yeah it was good.” Isaac can feel Scott’s breath brushing his chin and leans down, slow and predatory, until they’re eye to eye.

 

“Only good?” He raises an eyebrow.

 

“Really good. Really.” They’re so close that Scott has gone nearly cross-eyed. “What-”

 

Scott starts, but falters because Isaac has latched onto his neck and is already sucking hard. He wobbles, knees weak, and Isaac relishes the loud slap of Scott’s hand against the breakroom table. He grins into warm skin. Scott smells like the blueberry muffins that fell on him earlier when he was reaching for a shelf too high and Isaac hadn’t intervened to help. He couldn’t have trusted himself to be that close to Scott, and if the added bonus of watching Scott’s shirt stretch and expose the dip in his spine had influenced his decision, well...

 

Isaac licks in patterns, in letters, and in numbers. ‘L-A-H-E-Y’ ‘14’,  he traces because he’s a little more possessive than is probably okay and he remembers the way Scott had looked in his lacrosse jersey the night they’d gone bowling. He remembers Scott stretched across his lap in Stiles’ Jeep because there had been no more room. He remembers Scott pouring sand down his his back with careful fingers when they’d babysat his cousin at the beach. He finds that spot just above Scott’s spine that’s too sensitive and presses.

 

“Ooooh. _Quiero tocarte_ \- I- um-” Scott whimpers and Isaac noses down to his collarbone, dragging the neckband out of the way with a free hand. He leaves a succession of small, tight bruises and Scott grabs at his hair, curls his fingers and fists it hard. God, it’s getting long, he realizes when he tries to look up and it blocks his view of Scott falling apart. He can hear everything here in the hollow of Scott’s neck. Every breath, every groan, every clicking swallow. And for a moment, he can almost pretend that this is real. That Scott will love him back in every way Isaac wants him too.

 

Isaac picks Scott up one-handed and thank Christ he doesn’t need to hold him long because he's heavy. Isaac sits him on the table instead, laying him down as gently as he can, and he isn’t sure what he’s planning. To fuck his best friend in the middle of the workplace? Isaac doesn’t try to answer, but instead focuses on the gift that is Scott wriggling underneath him. He kisses each bruise he leaves, because Scott is precious. Scott is glass under his hands and his mouth and Isaac is caught between the need to preserve him and the ever-growing desire to watch him break. _Idiot_ , he chastises himself even as he softens his lips over every lovebite. _Weakness_ , this is weakness he’s showing. Scott only pulls him closer, because he’s determined to have every part of Isaac.  

 

He's in the middle of christening Scott’s jaw when the door opens. Isaac pulls away slowly, peeling every finger away from Scott’s balmy skin with intent. He not-so-discreetly fixes himself and at least attempts to block the view of Scott, who’s really getting the worst of this.

 

Scott sits up, still breathing a little too loudly, and even if the neck of shirt wasn’t nearly pulled down to showcase his chest, there would still be no hiding the fact that he was just splayed out on the breakroom table like Isaac’s personal buffet. He stands carefully, sliding away from Isaac like a guilty puppy.

 

Boyd stands in the doorway, eyebrow raised with a stack of pastry boxes in his arms.

 

“Boyd.” Scott blurts awkwardly. “Hey.”

 

Boyd raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at Scott’s swollen mouth.

 

“It’s totally not what you think.”

 

Isaac pinches his nose.

 

“Alright. How much?” He asks and Boyd’s responding smile is way too smug. Isaac knows what’s coming.  

 

“Your Firefly boxset.” He’s been coveting it for a while now, ever since Isaac paid what he’d deemed a gross amount of money for one season of anything.

 

“I haven’t even made it halfway through yet!”

 

“Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” Boyd shrugs. “Besides, this is my silence you’re buying here. Doesn’t come too cheap.”

 

“How long?”

 

“Three months.”

 

“No.”

 

“Cool. I mean, I could just let anything slip to Erica. Or Lydia.”

 

He’s ruthless. Absolutely ruthless.

 

“This seems remarkably like blackmail.” Scott says and Boyd's smile is satisfied.

 

“It does, doesn’t it?”

 

“One month.” Isaac bargains. Scott mutters something about ‘not even that great’ under his breath, but Isaac ignores him. Erica and Lydia are two of the nosiest, most unsympathetic people in the universe and if they get even a whiff that they might’ve been right about Isaac’s feelings, he will crash and burn.

 

“Two. Don’t worry, I’ll leave the special features with you.”

 

*

 

“Would y-you _stop_ k-k-kissing me and-d then l-l-l- _leaving_?”

 

Isaac turns in surprise, leaving his keys in the door, and there’s Scott, standing in the stairwell of his shitty apartment building, with no coat, no hat, and no gloves. He’s freezing in his v-neck and Isaac wants to say something incredibly ironic, like ‘ _why don’t you have your coat on?_ ’.

 

“You could’ve gotten frostbite.” is what he manages irritably.  

 

“Oh m-my god.” Scott says like he’s got this sudden clarity. Then he narrows his eyes. “Isaac, have you been avoiding me because you think I won’t love you back?”

 

“Scott-”

 

“You _idiot_.” Scott comes up the other two stairs between them and pokes Isaac hard in the chest. “I should punch you.”

 

“Scott, you love everyone.” Isaac reasons.

 

“What, and you think that makes this- the way I love you, somehow, _less_?” Scott actually sounds angry at that idea, and Isaac abstractly thinks that this is the first time he’s ever heard Scott take this tone.

 

“I don’t wanna just be your _friend_ , Scott. I’m not another Stiles. That’s the problem.”

 

“There’s nothing _just_ about what I have with you. Or Stiles. He’s important. But you’re important to me, too. Just in a different way.” Scott is fuming, fists balled by his sides.

 

“Wait. What?”

 

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Scott rolls his eyes and the nasty gesture looks wrong on him. Too cruel.

 

“But I thought-”

 

“You thought **what**?” he snarls.

 

“I thought you were aro.” Isaac’s voice sounds childish and small, but he’d honestly- Scott had never-. And Camden. Camden had broken so many hearts without meaning to. Because he was just like Scott. Loving and warm and unavailable.

 

“You-” Scott’s brow twists and his hands open again in confusion and it shouldn’t be cute- at least not now -but it is. It really is.

 

“Aromantic.”

 

“Like your brother? Why-”

 

“I love you.” Isaac blurts it at Scott like he’s trying to get rid of the words.

 

Scott’s eyebrows shoot up to scrape against the fringe of his stupid floppy hair that makes him look thirteen and Isaac crowds him against the door.

 

“I love you.” He says it again because it feels good to have it cleared from his throat. Maybe now his hands won’t shake so much when he watches Scott cook them french toast in nothing but boxers. Maybe now it won’t hurt when he wakes before Scott in the mornings- when they’re lying next to each other in the dim light and Scott is only his. He ducks so that their mouths are closer and says it again, lips moving against Scott’s in an intimate secret.

 

“I love you.” The feeling of touching Scott at the same time- of watching Scott’s amber-brown eyes widen and cross a little while he watches Isaac, has him reeling and Isaac closes his eyes. Scott tries to move slow again, and Isaac just- _fuck_ that. Scott’s back smacks against the wood when Isaac heaves him up onto the door.

 

Isaac’s never kissed anybody this hard. He cups Scott’s jaw with one hand and watches the way Scott’s breathing comes in quick pants once Isaac bites down on his bottom lip and drags it out. Isaac vaguely registers the painful clack of their teeth when Scott chases his mouth and launches his own harsh kiss, because- this is real. He is here, kissing Scott McCall against his apartment door. Scott McCall, who loves him and clearly wants to be kissing him back. Which-

 

“Your lips are _freezing_.” Isaac complains as he pulls away and pushes his face into the even colder, exposed triangle of Scott’s bare chest.

 

“Why,” he starts in between adoring kisses to the skin that make Scott squirm against him.

 

“are you walking around...” He pulls on the shirt’s low collar and suddenly Scott’s right nipple is out and hard. He thumbs it harshly, dragging his nail over the tight nub and Scott grunts just a little too loudly.

 

“ ...in a fucking v-neck...” Isaac rubs the peak of Scott’s nipple with the pad of his thumb and watches, fascinated, as the sting of his scratch fades from an angry dark-red back to brown.      

 

“... in the middle of January?” he finishes quickly before he takes Scott’s nipple into his mouth. It’s cold, and Isaac can only imagine how sensitive it must feel against his hot tongue.

 

“ _Mierdamierdamierda_ ” there’s the Spanish dribbling out again as Scott grips his shoulders harder. Isaac releases the nipple with a greedy, parting bite and blows on it just to be a little shit. Scott jerks in his arms.

 

“Isaac. You- we have to- _fucking hell_.” Scott’s voice cuts off in a clipped moan when Isaac worms a hand into the front of jeans and fondles him.

 

Isaac smiles up at him, a rare full smile that he doesn’t give often but it’s clear that it works on Scott.

 

“ _Unh_.” His head smacks against the door when he leans back.“Fine, but we are definitely talking about all of this later.”

 

Isaac rolls his eyes.

 

“Fine. Later.” He smiles again before he takes his hand out of Scott’s pants and lets him down. “But for now, tell me, how do you feel about deepthroating?”

 

Scott grins up at him and opens the door with a stray hand, reaching to drag Isaac in by the front of his coat.  

 

*

 

The morning after is kind of perfect, Isaac thinks.

 

Scott’s lying underneath him, propped up on his elbows while Isaac rests his lips on the shell of Scott’s left ear. He lets his fingers map Scott’s body, curling them around his ribs, smoothing down into the space behind his right knee.

 

“You thought I was aromantic?”

 

So they’re doing this right now then.

 

“Yeah.” Isaac breathes and kisses a distracting mole on Scott’s shoulder blade.

 

“Why?”

 

“My brother is a lot like you, you know?” Isaac says, and rolls over so that he’s lying next to Scott, but he keeps a hand against the back of Scott’s neck. “Huge dork. Everyone loves him and he loves everyone. Just not in the way that some people- ...he doesn’t do dates. He doesn’t do intimacy. Which is fine. It’s okay, but I thought I could keep my feelings for you separate from our friendship.”

 

Isaac grinds his teeth. “I couldn’t.”

 

Scott sighs and strokes the sweaty hair on Isaac’s forehead.

 

“Gross.” he comments and Isaac laughs.   

 

“You’re the one that didn’t want to shower last night.”

 

“Because I was tired.” Isaac scoots closer to him and barrages Scott with a set of filthy kisses.

 

“Damn right you were.” he breathes and smacks Scott’s ass just to hear the satisfying sound of skin on skin. Scott rolls his eyes and pins Isaac’s hands to the pillows above his head. Isaac is distracted by the thick bulk of Scott’s muscles as he hovers over him and so he almost misses the whispered ‘Don’t do that again.’

 

“Do what?” Isaac questions with a smirk when Scott settles in his lap.

 

“Don’t just _assume_ like that.” He closes his eyes and brushes his nose against Isaac’s cheek. “Ask. Isaac, you have to ask. You have to give things a chance. Don’t just expect anyone to not love you.”

 

Isaac isn’t expecting his throat to close up and he turns his face away. Scott lets him, but presses his lips against Isaac’s temple in such a tender way that Isaac feels his chest tighten.

  
“And for the record, I’m not aromantic. I do, for some remarkable reason, love you.”

 

*

 

There’s a distinct lack of surprise in the air when Scott and Isaac reveal the new aspect of their relationship to their coworkers. Obviously, Boyd knew but Scott is baffled when Lydia only rolls her eyes and jabs her nail file at him.

 

“This is what you called us in here for? You said it was serious. I thought you had _cancer_.”

 

“Finally.” Derek murmurs while he scrolls on his phone.

 

“Mhmm.” Stiles chirps while he watches Derek scroll on his phone.

 

Erica doesn’t even say anything at first, looking deep in contemplation, but then she asks Scott if that’s why his lips looked so fucked out this morning and everyone groans.

 

“I’m still keeping Firefly, Lahey. I’m only on disc two. We had a deal.” Boyd tells them. Isaac grits his teeth and Scott shrugs.

 

“It’s not even that great.” Scott tries to comfort him and Isaac looks at him blankly.

 

“Nah, you’re right. I watched like two episodes with Boyd. That show is amazing.”

 

“Life isn’t fair.” Isaac whines.  

 

*   

 

“Again.” Isaac demands with this fascinated look on his face and Scott can’t even be irritated.

   

Isaac’s just come back from his break and he’s leaning over the counter into Scott’s space to hear it for himself. He hasn’t even taken off his coat yet and his nose is still pink from the cold. He fiddles with the neck of Scott’s apron while another freezing hand catches his wrist. Scott can’t bite back his smile and he doesn’t want to. This’ll be the ninth time if he’s counting correctly.

 

“I love you.”

 

Isaac’s smile is quick and bright and it should be printed on money all over the world in Scott’s opinion.

 

“I love you, too.” Isaac always makes sure to say it back, even if it’s hushed and rushed sometimes and Scott can only catch the tail-end of the “you, too”.  

 

“Move it, lovebirds.” That’s Allison behind Isaac with a playful smile exposing the deep dimples in her cheeks. She’s isn’t wearing her trenchcoat; that’s the first thing Scott notices. And she’s gotten a haircut.  

 

Isaac slides over so that she can take her order, a small black coffee, same as always. Except this time she tacks on ‘-and an apple danish. Heated, please.’, which makes Scott smile curiously. He loves it when people try new things, but he gets the feeling that Allison doesn’t deviate from routine very often.

 

She must sense his curiosity because she when she hands over the money, her voice carries over, soft and serene.

 

“Just thought I’d try something new.”

 

“I think danishes aren’t the only thing Allison’s trying out.” Isaac tells him when she walks away. Scott’s about to ask him what he means, but before he can, Erica comes back from cleaning a table.

 

“What’s that?” She asks cautiously when Scott pulls the danish out of the microwave.

 

“Apple danish.” Scott frowns. “For Allison. Why?”

 

Erica’s face goes through a myriad of complex emotions that Scott can’t even begin to understand before she tugs the plate out of his hand gently and clears her throat.

 

“I’ve got this one.”

 

“Um. Okay.”

 

Scott hands her Allison’s mug too and watches, interested when Allison’s smile turns wicked at the sight of Erica.

 

“Oh.” He says dumbly. Erica smiles back and lowers her meal with the most affection Scott’s ever seen her provide for anyone or anything.

 

“Called it.” Isaac crows gleefully.

 

*

 

The next morning they find themselves in Scott’s bed, neither of them wearing a thing except the blue tube sock dangling from Scott’s toe. It’s somewhere around six which means the sun’s light isn’t harsh enough to annoy Isaac yet. Not that he’d even notice. At the moment he’s busy, watching Scott run the tips of his fingers across his lips. He bites at them playfully and Scott pinches his nose lightly.

  
They’re still lying in bed side by side when Isaac picks up his wrist and traces the veins that disappear into Scott’s arm. “Tell me again.”, he whispers and Scott does, until his throat is sore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This took forever. Literally. I have died. I am writing this from beyond the grave.


End file.
